Under the rising sun, Pineapple Island glistened with dew, and the scent of salt and scorched rum lingered faintly in the aftermath of the previous night's festivities. The ship deck had long been cleared, but the memory of celebration still echoed in laughter lines and scuffed planks.
Newgate stood near the ship's prow, arms folded, gazing out toward the horizon. Murakumogiri rested against his shoulder, a silent titan of metal and legacy.
Footsteps approached.
"Captain," Hiroshi greeted, voice low but firm. Doma followed, his jacket freshly stitched from the previous battle.
"You two look serious," Newgate said without turning. "Spit it out."
Hiroshi nodded. "We want to set sail, Captain. A side mission—to Drum Island."
"Drum, eh?" Newgate raised an eyebrow. "That's a frostbitten dump. Why?"
Doma crossed his arms. "There's a doctor there. A damn good one, apparently. Not your average patch-job hack. If we're going to raise brats worthy of legacy, we'll need more than rum and gauze when things go south."
Newgate chuckled. "You bastards finally thinking ahead, huh? Not bad."
Hiroshi smirked. "Not just for the future brats. We want to make sure Serena, Shella, and Sally all get the best care. If things go bad during childbirth... we need a miracle hand on call."
Newgate gave a thoughtful nod, tapping the edge of his blade against the railing. "You've got my blessing. But take someone who'll toughen you up along the way. This ain't a vacation."
Doma exchanged a look with Hiroshi. "We want to take Jozu."
"Jozu?" Newgate grinned. "That brat's been itching for a real mission."
"He's raw," Hiroshi added, "but strong. And he listens."
"He's also got something to prove," Doma said. "Might as well give him a shot."
Newgate gave a low laugh. "Fine. But if he dies, you're explaining it to Argus."
"We'll keep the brat in one piece," Doma said with a shrug.
"Then go," Newgate said, eyes narrowing toward the horizon. "Find this miracle doctor. And come back in one piece."
---
Below deck, meanwhile, Argus sat with his wives in the shaded lounge. Serena gently sipped warm tea, the growing curve of her belly resting under soft silks. Shella stretched off to one side, working through a kata with her weighted practice daggers.
Sally, on the other hand, sat with a book open across her lap, humming quietly. Her hand rested protectively on her lower stomach.
"You're not training?" Argus asked, glancing at her.
Sally shook her head. "Never really cared for it. I wasn't raised to swing blades. I know my place, and it's not on a battlefield."
Argus nodded. "As long as you know what you're good at and don't waste time pretending otherwise."
Shella gave a sharp smile. "I'll train for two, then."
"Three," Serena murmured softly, eyes never leaving her cup.
Shella blinked. "What?"
"You'll need to train hard enough for yourself, your child… and your pride. You've been less sharp lately."
Shella's brow twitched, but she said nothing. She resumed her exercises with quiet fury.
Sally hid a smirk behind her book.
Argus stood, eyes scanning each of them. "You're all carrying more than children now. You're carrying legacy. That means you'll be watched—by the crew, by rivals, and by me."
Serena met his gaze calmly. "We'll rise to meet that burden."
She already had. Every quiet correction she gave the servants. Every note she kept on logistics. Every time she spoke, the others deferred without realizing it.
Head Wife. Not in title. Not in name. But in effect.
And she was just getting started.
(CHAPTER END)